The next morning, Georgia put her Baby Glock in the glove compartment. She dropped off Charlie at JoBeth’s and Vanna at Oakton, then made her way to the supermarket. As she pulled into the parking lot, her cell dinged with a voicemail. She pulled it out of her pocket, saw she only had one bar. She clicked anyway. The call had a Michigan area code, but there was no message attached to the number. She sighed at the shaky service. Sometimes even in the Chicago suburbs.
Before she climbed out of the car, two bars popped up on her cell. Better. She returned the call. A mechanical voice told her she had reached the office of Marianne Hofstader.
“Hi. It’s Georgia Davis. I see you called but it went straight to voicemail. Please try me again when you have the chance.”
A moment later her cell chirped. “Good morning, Marianne.”
“Maybe for you it is.”
“What happened?”
“I almost got fired this morning.”
“Why?”
“You have to promise me this is entirely off the record, understand?” She sounded breathless. She was clearly disturbed.
“Of course.” Georgia said. She reminded herself she was a reporter to Hofstader, not a PI.
“I stuck my neck out and pitched the possibility of an article in a corporate meeting, but it got shot down faster than a speeding bullet. No one wanted any press. No one. They made a big stink about it.”
“Even a puff piece?”
“Even that.” She paused so long that Georgia wasn’t sure she was still connected. Then, “Something’s going on. Something everyone’s afraid of.”
Georgia played dumb. “What?”
Hofstader jabbered on as if she hadn’t heard Georgia’s question. “At first some of corporate flaks thought it would be a great story. Good news for a change. With the Trib, a national newspaper. The idea, they said, was to surround bad news with good news to balance public perceptions of the company.”
“Bad news? What bad news?”
“They wouldn’t say. I got the feeling it was a secret, and I wasn’t senior enough to be let in on it. From the way they were talking, it’s something that could affect the company’s future. And not in a good way. Then one of the VPs of Public Relations decided it was too much of a risk and told me that under no conditions was I to follow this up unless I wanted this to be my last day at Jefferson Medical.”
“Sounds serious,” Georgia said.
“You said it. I’m not allowed to have any press access. If they knew I was talking to you right now, they’d chop off my head. So you can’t write the story. You have to back off. My job, my entire career is on the line.”
“I understand. Thanks for giving me a heads-up. In fact, I’m curious. Why did you call? I’m just a nosy journalist sniffing around for a story.”
“Because whatever is going on is wrong. It’s not what I signed up for. I’m in charge of sending hundreds of people out to deliver something that’s supposed to save lives. But they’re acting like it’s going to kill people. Look. I know you’re not going to stop trying to get your story. But you can’t use Jefferson Medical. Find another source. And don’t hang around Kalamazoo.”
Georgia recalled feeling she was being watched. Especially at the bar. By Holt and his pals, then Ginny, the woman who kicked her out. Had Jefferson Medical tapped them to surveil her? Why? What didn’t they want to get out? Were they aware of any contamination? Maybe the FBI was frantically trying to trace it before it leaked, and a tsunami of media descended. Or was it something more nefarious?
Georgia thought about LeJeune. The FBI could go public with the threat like they had with Tylenol. That would be a completely different story. If that happened, Jefferson Medical would keep the media updated and try to get them on their side. A dedicated reporter would try to keep the channels open with Hofstader. It could pay off down the road. Jesus. She really was thinking like a journalist. As well as a PI.
“I get it, Marianne. Listen…let’s stay in touch. If and when that ‘secret’ comes out, I hope you and I can talk about it.”
“I hope so too. You’ve been up front with me. I appreciate it.”
Georgia cringed. Just a little.